You Don't Tell a Gryffindor No
by Nevosa
Summary: Severus is about to learn what happens when you tell a Gryffindor "no." HG/SS


When she entered the apothecary for work that morning she knew something felt wrong, something she sensed in the air.

She made her way to the back room hesitantly. What she found unnerved her. He was sitting at a table, and she watched a tear fall from his face to its wooden surface. Surprising herself, she was not frozen by the unnaturalness of the situation. In a second she had crossed the room and had his head cradled against her chest, stroking his hair. Even more surprising, he didn't fight her comforting touch, at least not at first. He sighed, and relaxed into her arms.

After a second or two he seemed to come to his senses, and he stood abruptly, tearing himself from her embrace. It knocked her off balance, and she was at first frightened that she had angered him, had crossed a line he could not forgive. His eyes did not betray any emotion, save for the trail of moisture running down his right cheek. For a moment, she did not know what to do. Then his expression faltered, and her arms, almost of their own volition, were reaching for him again.

This time he reciprocated her advance. His arms encircled her waist, and he pulled her close to him, their chests pressed tightly together, more tightly than strictly necessary for one who is only aiming at friendly comfort. His lips brushed against her shoulder. His body convulsed in a silent sob, and he murmered, "Lily, Lily."

Her breath hitched, and her stomach was tightening in pleasure, even as he whispered another woman's name. A dead woman's name. His breath, his lips on her skin made it difficult to think of anything at all, least of all the fact that she was in a compromising position with her former potions professor. She placed her hand behind his neck and whispered back, "you cannot bring her back."

"How very philosophical of you witch," he responded, his tone returning to its normal silkiness. The appearance of a physical, vibrant, and alive young woman had jarred him out of his grief. Her forwardness pushed the thoughts of his dead love out of his mind. Now all he could think of was the softness of her flesh, the way she shuddered under his touch. He brought his mouth to her ear, and exhaled. She quivered. He smiled and whispered, his voice deep and low, "forgive this moment of ... indecorum."

Her throat went dry. "You're forgiven," she managed to gasp.

"Then you'll forgive this one as well." He did not wait for a response before he brushed his lips against hers. He smirked when she inhaled sharply in surprise. She scowled up at him for teasing her. Her mouth, twisted in indignation, demanded to be relaxed, and he obliged. His hand entwined in her hair, and he covered her mouth with his. He moaned into his mouth, and his body responded to the delicious sound of her pleasure.

She was desperately grasping the front of his shirt, as if it would keep her from losing all control. Her head seemed to be buzzing. She fought to maintain control of her thoughts, but her mind was swimming. And his hands were wandering. Up and down her sides, fingers brushing her neck and shoulder, bunching the fabric of her robes at her hip.

She was exploring his torso as well, caressing his neck, lingering on the jagged, vibrant red scar left by the snake's venomous fangs. His fingers clamped around her wrist, and she froze. She looked up, though afraid to meet his gaze, and found the intensity of his expression overwhelming. "Don't," was all he said, before resuming his trail of kisses down her neck.

He perhaps should have known better than to tell a Gryffindor "no," especially this particular Gryffindor. She pulled back, "did I hurt you?"

"You did not."

"Then what - "

"Granger," he interrupted her. She paused to listen, her brow furrowed in curiosity and trepidation. She knew she was probably on dangerous ground. "I know it is disgusting. I do not want you to ... I do not want to be reminded ... do not touch it again." His voice was teetering between a sultry and a deadly whisper. But she would not be cowed by his cheap attempt to intimidate her.

"That's not acceptable," she said matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger?" The danger in his voice was rising.

She stepped closer to him, his hand still tightened around her wrist, and whispered gently but firmly in his ear, "Your scars do not frighten or disgust me, and nothing on your person is off limits as long as you continue to put your lips wherever you please on mine. And I'd quite like to find out where you had planned to put them next."

His breath caught in his chest, both from her unabashed claim to his body and her frank acceptance of his war wounds. He released her wrist, but to his surprise she did not proceed to caress the scar. No, she decided to instead bring her mouth right to his neck and slowly drag her tongue all the way from the top of the scar to the collar of his shirt. Her lack of fear shocked him, but he hardly had time to feel it before she was unbuttoning his shirt, whispering again, "now about those lips."

Yes indeed, about those lips. Their clothes falling to the ground, his lips were able to explore her body freely, and she left not an inch of his flesh unclaimed in return. And Severus Snape learned just how pleasurable it could be to tell a Gryffindor, "no."


End file.
